Real
by spilche
Summary: You think you know your theories but he is far more real than your world.' -- Introspective drabble of Inui's obsession with the perfection that is Tezuka. (implied InuiTezu?)


Title: Real  
Genre: General (G)  
Author: scube (frivolity forbidden-lover . net)  
Characters: Inui x Tezuka? (implied)  
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis. Not mine.  
Date completed: Feb 14, 2004  
Notes: This is my V-day gift!fic for arilce (who specifically requested for InuiTezu). I had a really hard time trying to think of something to write at all because Tezuka-muse is almost always busy with Fuji. Anyway, this fic is inspired by the ranking match between Inui and Tezuka in episodes 51-52. It is an introspective fic written from the second-person POV (just had to try this for myself!) and begins with the imaginary first match that Inui and Tezuka played in their first year. Sorry, not much raburabu down here ;p

--------------------------------

"Game set! Game won by Tezuka Kunimitsu. 6 games to love."

Much as it hurts your pride to admit, you know that it was a complete defeat. Those simple and unassuming strokes never look as lethal as they really are, and by the time you dawn upon that realisation, it is going to be too late for you to react (again).

The ball crashes upon your side of the court and you are rooted. (Was it because you were momentarily too stunned by the sheer power of the ball? Or, that you did not dare defy its course of action because the perfection of Mr Perfect was not to be trifled with?) These brief moments of glorious defeat feel as if they have been thoughtlessly stretched like a rubber band, made to last beyond eternity. You see the action re-enacted over and over again in slow motion like a mindless clockwork in your head, the impact of the ball getting increasingly louder with each replay. Then the rubber band snaps as it reaches breaking point and all elasticity is destroyed forever in an instant.

And you suddenly feel foolishly stranded in the rough confines of the court. Your heart feels emptied and bare, almost to the extent of being dangerously vulnerable, but something else comes to fill up the looming nihility.

There is something intangibly greater than the pinpoint accuracy he commands. You think you know your theories but he is far more real than your world. You predict everything, yet you predict nothing. He takes every structure you painstakingly built and slowly breaks them apart one by one. Yet you can never really hate him because truth be told, it fascinates you beyond yourself.

Perfection always intrigues you but you never really believe in it because there is an even greater satisfaction when you manage to find flaws that heighten its status to imperfection. Between perfection and imperfection, you can never decide which is better, except that curiously enough, they always lead to each other in the end. And before you realise anything at all, you are already spiraling in a never-ending pursuit to complete the other.

You feel refreshed and motivated, now.

----------

He is the reason for many things you do. For instance, the reason why you even started collecting data. You understand that perfection ceases to be perfect once it can be empirically measured. At the back of your mind, you long to conquer this stunning perfection with your formidable data. Make him yours. Elevate yourself beyond perfection. You challenge him time and again, yet you never win. It doesn't matter, you tell yourself as-a-matter-of-factly, as you carefully adjust your dark-rimmed glasses.

It's all for the sake of collecting data.

Tezuka keeps overthrowing your data but that just means you have the excuse to keep collecting new ones. No single piece of data is totally useless and data collection never ends. One day, when you have finally collected enough data, you will see for yourself what you have been waiting to see.

The collection of data makes you feel peaceful. Data will not lie. Data is warm and comforting because it provides a kind of security against the vast unknown. Data is there to protect you from unfounded claims. Data makes you complete. Data defines you.

More importantly, data allows you to understand the technicalities of perfection. You thought, perhaps if you could understand perfection, you would also be able find out how to rip apart the facade of perfection.

Perfection cannot exist. Perfection is a fallacy.

(Ironically, he proves this to you by continually ruining your perfections but you are always mercilessly left wondering how you can destroy his.)

----------

"Tezuka, data will never lie," you caution him before your inter-club ranking match with him. He says nothing and you leave him to be.

"I'm going to beat you for once," you announce. Nobody has beaten him before and you want to be the first. You long to be ahead of _that_ prodigy and the first to conquer perfection.

Too easy. Three years of relentless data collection is finally paying off now. You think you are able to stifle him by pre-empting his every move. In fact, you know his every move, his habits, his tendencies and his tricks. He exists like an intricately marked map in the recesses of your mind.

You watch his brows meet as the area between them creased slightly. His eyes are narrow slits of glinting determination. And you think triumphantly to yourself that you've seen this expression enough times to know what exactly it means. Tezuka wants to score a point.

Not yet, you reply in silence, a little smug smile surreptitiously curling your lips. The score stands at 4-3 to your favour; if you manage to overcome the break point, you will land yourself in an advantageous position. It's going to be yours. He's yours.

Until you suddenly realise that Tezuka is emanating a different aura now. Something that has never found its way into your data before, despite your sharp and careful eyes. Tezuka has not moved an inch even though he has returned every single one of your attacks. He doesn't even need to move.

_Even if I know it in my head, even if I can predict it, it seems as if every ball I hit is being drawn to Tezuka.  
What if... he can freely control the path of the ball?_

_Does that mean he can make me hit wherever he likes?_

You feel an ineluctable fear like a sliver of ice disrupting your blood flow.

"Inui, the match is not over yet," he says calmly. His expression leaves you as clueless as before and the feeling of foolishness and futility settles upon your heart again.

You are overwhelmed because you have just witnessed how perfection defies logic. You feel thoroughly manipulated as control gradually slips away from the gaps between your fingers despite your desperate grip onto it. In a moment of involuntarily vivid revelation, you cannot disagree anymore... that perhaps, you will never be the one to win Tezuka Kunimitsu after all.

Completely defeated but thoroughly convinced.

You fall, and you fall farther.

Data defines you but you are unable to define Tezuka.

"It's a different story when it comes to the real fight. Sometimes, there are occasions when the power exceeds the one in data." is what Tezuka often says. You know that in your heart, you understand and you agree but you cannot – don't want to – stop. Somewhere in your wildest dreams, maybe you will prove him all wrong one day.

But for now, you are just trapped in the Tezuka Zone.


End file.
